ot be possible for
Tussmann, or anybody else, to keep up with him, for he was off through
the door and out of sight, as if he had Schlemihl's seven-leagued boots
on.

Perhaps this was why, the next minute after he had disappeared from
Tussmann, he appeared suddenly, like a ghost, in the Commissionsrath's
room, and bade him good evening in a rough tone.

The Commissionsrath was very frightened, but he pulled himself
together, and asked the Goldsmith, with some warmth, what he meant by
coming in at that time of the night, adding that he wished he would
take himself off, and not bother him any more with any of those
conjuring tricks of his, as he presumed he was about to do.

"Ah!" said the Goldsmith very calmly, "that is how people are,
particularly Commissionsraths. Just the very people who come to them,
wishing to do them a service, into whose arms they ought to throw
themselves with a confident heart--just those are the people whom they
want to kick out of the door. My good Herr Commissionsrath, you are a
poor unfortunate man, a real object of pity and commiseration. I have
come here--I have _hastened_ here--at this late hour of the night, to
consult with you as to how this terrible blow which is hanging over you
may be averted--if averted it can be--and you----"

"Oh, God," the Commissionsrath cried, "another bankruptcy in Hamburg, I
suppose, or in Bremen, or London, to ruin me out and out! That was all
that was wanted. Oh, I'm a ruined man!"

"No," the Goldsmith said, "it's an affair of a different kind
altogether; you say that you won't allow young Edmund Lehsen to marry
Albertine, do you not?"

"What's the good of talking about such a piece of absurdity?" the
Commissionsrath replied. "I to give my daughter to this beggar of a
penciller."

"Well," said the Goldsmith, "he has painted a couple of magnificent
portraits of you and her."

"Oh, oh," cried Bosswinkel, "a fine piece of business it would be to
hand over my daughter for a couple of daubs on canvas; I've sent the
trash back to him."

"If you don't let Edmund have your daughter," the Goldsmith continued,
"he will have his revenge."

"Pretty story!" answered Bosswinkel. "What revenge is this little bit
of a beggar, who dribbles paints on to canvas, and hasn't a farthing to
bless himself with, going to take upon Commissionsrath Melchior
Bosswinkel, I should like to know?"

"I'll tell you that in a moment," said the Goldsmith. "Edmund is going
to a